


The unforeseen perks of insomnia

by Granddaughter_Ogg



Series: Fluffy Shorts [4]
Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granddaughter_Ogg/pseuds/Granddaughter_Ogg
Summary: Strife's fooling around, trying to win the reader's heart. This summary is already longer than the whole story. :D





	The unforeseen perks of insomnia

Imagine being sleepy as hell, yet not able to drift away for even a while. The daybreak already started to awash the sky with lush golds and pinks.

You slump in your chair and watch some shit on youtube, feeling drowsy and miffed at your stupid body for doing this to you. Again.

Then you hear a strange rustle, some metal clinking, a whispered curse or two - and suddenly Strife is sitting on your inner windowsill.

He tried his best to achieve a cool pose, but there’s just not enough space for him there. His long body remains hunched, one leg bent uncomfortably, the other hanging down and touching the floor.

“Hi”, he says blithely, as if you’d just bump into him on a sidewalk.

“Strife.” You wipe your eyes, just in case. “Why are you perching in my window?”

All you get in response to that question is a grin.

“Never mind me. Why aren’t you sleeping, huh? I’ve heard humans need their sleep.”

He jabs the finger at you, tilting his head to the side and grimacing when there’s the smallest “crack!” in his back.

You just shrug. The sharpshooter taxes you with a keen stare. Takes in the deep shadows under your eyes, the general state of dishevelment that you’re in.

“Come with me then”, he says with decision, reaching out to you. You tentatively touch his large hand, only to get gripped and pulled close.

Now you’re both on the damn windowsill and it is _most_ uncomfortable.

You unwillingly press your cheek to his chest. He’s clad in his sturdy battle gear, minus the helmet, and it smells like old leather and gun smoke. 

“Strife!…” 

“Yeah, I don’t like this any more than you do”, he huffs, but not before leaning in a little and taking a whiff at your hair. Strife’s idea of doing something discreetly isn’t very discreet. “Let’s go to the roof and watch the sunrise. More space there.”

“The roof? It’s, like, four in the morning.”

“Then we’re guaranteed to have it to ourselves”. There’s a warm glimmer in those mischievous golden eyes. You can’t deny it.

He clambers out with you in his lap and stands up on the outer windowsill, not loosening the grip on your frame.

You shriek with horror at the vista: four stores of very possible, painful death open up at your dangling legs.

“Hey, hey. _I’ve got you_.” His large hand squeezes reassuringly at your midsection.

“Just don’t drop me…”

“I’d rather drop dead.” This man’s laughter is like a sunbeam. “That said - brace yourself, princess! We’re going up!”

You see no other option as to close your arms around his neck and grasp tightly.

It still is terrifying, even though Strife jumps from ledge to ledge in long, seemingly effortless leaps. 

“You’ve only pulled this off so that you could hold me, huh.” You murmur into his well-worn, aubergine scarf. It smells like the wind. And gun smoke.

“…Maybe.”


End file.
